A HALF MILE away on the opposite side of the Euphrates River, atop a mound of sand, the only trace of King’s presence was a divot in the earth. With each passing moment, the wind filled the hole with fresh sand. Less than a minute after King was sucked into the earth, no trace of him remained—except for his XM25 assault rifle.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

SIXTY-SEVEN

Severodvinsk, Russia

THE CITY OF Severodvinsk was not what Rook expected, not this far north. In some ways it reminded him of Portsmouth, New Hampshire—built on the coast, home to a submarine yard, featuring an old fishing culture still eking out a living—but Portsmouth’s population was closer to thirty thousand. Severodvinsk supported a population of nearly two hundred thousand.

Not that he minded the crowded streets. It made hiding in the open that much easier. Being a major naval hub, the city was full of military men, some in uniform, more in plainclothes. Despite wanting a stiff drink, Rook avoided the pubs and stuck to coffee shops, all the while searching for the one man who might be able to help him: Maksim Dashkov.

After leaving Galya’s cabin, he had hiked five miles before making it to a main route. Heading north, he caught a ride with a truck driver with a shipment destined for the sub yard. He’d been dropped off in the center of town an hour ago.

The coffee shop bell jangled as Rook entered. He smiled at the heavyset woman behind the counter and ordered a coffee. Black. He paid with money taken from Galya’s cabin and headed for a table. Halfway to the table, as though an afterthought, he asked, “Do you have a phone directory I could borrow?”

The woman nodded, bent down behind the counter, and reemerged with a directory.

Rook reached for it with a smile. “Thanks.”

But when he tried to take it from the woman, she held on tight. “One hundred fifty.”

One hundred fifty rubles was just a little over five dollars U.S., but it was still a lot for using the phone book. When Rook gave her a questioning look, she added, “Times are hard. People drink more vodka than coffee.”

Rook paid her and smiled. “I should have got cream and sugar.”

“Those are extra, too,” the woman said as he sat down with the phone directory. Thirty seconds later he had a phone number and address for Maksim Dashkov.

Rook stood to leave, but saw three men in uniform standing outside the shop. It was doubtful he’d be recognized, but on the off chance he was, he was in no condition to fight his way past two hundred thousand Russians.

He gave the woman at the counter his most winning smile and said, “How much for a phone call?”

The woman picked up the phone and placed it on the counter. “Five more.”